Branding
by Delenn
Summary: "There was something about that moment that stood out. That burned it into his subconscious surer than any brand. There it resided, with so many other memories of her. Each with their own mark, but none that burned so brightly as That Moment."


**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, I just borrow them as often as I can.**

**Rated: R**

**Words: 735**

**Written: November 2, 2007**

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**Branding**

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There was something about that moment that stood out. That burned it into his subconscious surer than any brand. There it resided, with so many other memories of her. Each with their own mark, but none that burned so brightly as That Moment.

It distinct from the moment the flesh of her lips first pressed against his, soft and rough at the same time, but carrying the unmistakable taste of her. A taste he found himself quickly addicted to, seeking any opportunity to taste her essence again, even if none of the subsequent encounters ever quite lived up to that first kiss. Tongues just brushing against each other; tentative for all their bluster.

No. It was nothing like that. Nothing like the first time they exchanged blows, blows by swords or blows by words - for it all came down to the same thing anyway - where he first realized that her barbed wit was sharper than any weapon of man (or god).

Different still from their first battlefield, where the blood of their enemies mixed with the muddy ground until that was all that was left, them and the damp, bloody earth. The armies had taken their men to lick their wounds, and they were left alone against the fresh battle, the sweet taste of victory and infinity dripping from their lips. That first battlefield, where they pressed bare skin against the cool mud that left dark, bloody streaks against them as they pushed naked bodies together for the first time, gasping and groaning in a scene of debauchery that would have made Zeus blush.

No. That moment... that moment he tastes. He tastes that distinct mixture of her sweat, mixed in with the undeniable smell of victory and battle.

There are millions of encounters vying for their spot of attention in his mind, first words and first moments and the particular tingle they both share just from being in the other's presence.

There's his first brush with mortality, and the sickening press of weakness that he can hear in his bones. The second round, laced with bitter insanity. There's the sharp sting of his own death looming, and the dull ache of rejection... And all of them, even the ones where she is not present, are mixed up with the feel of her.

But none of those moments has marked him quite like this; none has left this feeling, this scalding wound that he can feel etched against the back of his skull. It makes him wish he were more of a bard - this feeling, this moment, deserves a library of parchments to its name.

Her lips brush across his forehead, and he's glad he doesn't have to breathe.

Tightening his arms around her, pulling her closer and protecting her from the night chill, he thinks he's been waiting for this moment since they first locked eyes, years ago that feel like seconds and millennia at the same time.

He blinks, and he can't understand why, until he realizes that she's brushing her thumb across his cheek, and he can't remember the last time he wept - no, it was over her grave. "Ares?"

It's only her voice that makes him say the words, the reminder that she's waiting on him, and he's never been any good at denying her anything. "I love you too. I always have."

Crystal blue eyes wink at him, and her lips quirk into the kind of smile he has not seen directed at him in too long to count, "I think... I think I know that now."

The acknowledgement of something he didn't even know himself, not until this moment, echoes as loudly as her first words. He can feel every inch of her naked body, curled against his, and he is certain that he will feel her branded there forever.

It is the mark of a moment he never could have imagined forever would be long enough to see, and it takes up residence with the taste of her; the blood and the sex and the battles and the sweat; the mortality and rejection, the death and insanity; the feel of her and this... nothing has ever marked him the way Xena has.

It's so trite that he feels like he should be laughing, though it's tears that leak from immortal eyes. For, it's love after all that has finally brought war to his knees.


End file.
